| Spinner |
| I was envious at first. I admit it. That you could weave words and colors into glorious bloom. Betrayal is inevitable when pedestals are involved. How could I forget that? But what good is revenge or anger or punishment? It doesn't bring back who I was with you. Yet order demands predictable behavior, and I could not sacrifice everything I love to you. So I threw them a bone... a small one... a digit woven tight by a string of memory. They see your arachind form as retribution; not the homage that it is to pure form. They are satisfied and secure that worship means everything. And I am left looking in corners for pieces of my soul. It is I who cannot escape the way you changed me, the web that you left to cradle my mind. copyright 2001 Susan Paige Shoemaker |